


i feel better and better (and worse and then better)

by wreckingmotorcars



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Belly Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light BDSM, M/M, Phone Sex, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingmotorcars/pseuds/wreckingmotorcars
Summary: "It's just a sprained ankle," Lovett says, easing himself down on the couch in his hotel room. "The doctor at the ER laughed at me a little, but he said I'll be good as new in a couple weeks or so."Ronan laughs into the phone. "I warned you not to climb into those go-go cages."In which Lovett hurts himself during SXSW and Ronan has an unorthodox way of making him feel better.





	i feel better and better (and worse and then better)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, new fandom, it's me, a trash monster.
> 
> This is SUPER a work of fiction. Keep it on the DL, my friends. I mean it. For real.
> 
> If you got here from the PodSA tag and not any of the kink tags, this...may not be for you. You know, proceed with caution. Lots of caution.
> 
> Thanks to greyskygirl for the beta! You're a peach for sticking with it through getting Jon Lovett confused with Jon Lovitz.

"It's just a sprained ankle," Lovett says, easing himself down on the couch in his hotel room. "The doctor at the ER laughed at me a little, but he said I'll be good as new in a couple weeks or so."

Ronan laughs into the phone. "I warned you not to climb into those go-go cages."

"What would you know about it?" Lovett snorts. "Like you've ever cage-danced on Fourth Street. Have you ever even been to Austin?" He props his leg up on a couple of pillows, like the doctor told him. His ankle throbs a little.

"I've had my moments," Ronan says, sounding smug.

Lovett shifts a little, trying to find a position to elevate his leg that also allows him to see the TV. He switches it on to CNN. He's been off Twitter most of the day, with one thing and another. He can back-read and get whatever garbage cable news take at the same time. "Ugh, I need to take my pain meds," he sighs. He puts Ronan on speaker and opens the Twitter app on his phone.

"So take them, baby," Ronan says.

"I'm not supposed to take them on an empty stomach, though, and I haven't eaten since like eleven this morning," Lovett says.

"Get room service. Come on, you'll feel better once you eat and take your meds."

"You're not my real mom," Lovett grumbles, but he looks up the room service menu on his phone. "I should probably get something more substantial than a milkshake. But I really want a milkshake."

"Get a milkshake and fries," Ronan suggests. His voice shifts, a little slower, a little deeper. Honeyed. "You should probably get a burger, too. You know, get some protein in you."

"Oh, we're doing this now, huh?" Lovett says, grinning in spite of himself. He arches his back, dick stirring a little. "What kind of burger should I get, hm?"

"Double cheeseburger," Ronan says, a little too quickly. "With sautéed mushrooms and avocado. And see if they can get a fried egg on there, too."

Lovett laughs. "That burger's gonna be a mess. And huge. You really think I should get all that?"

Ronan hums. "No, you're right. You should get a slice of cake, too. And onion rings."

"God," Lovett groans. His dick is fully at attention now, straining against his zipper. "You're gonna make me so fat, Ro."

 

Lovett can practically hear Ronan blushing through the phone. They've done this a few times now, ever since Ronan brought Lovett home for Thanksgiving and Lovett proceeded to make an absolute pig of himself. Later, in their bed in Ronan's mom's house (in Mia Farrow's house—Lovett tries not to think about it that way), Lovett had shoved his shirt over his bloated tummy and pouted until Ronan, bright red, gave him a tummy rub that culminated with Ronan giving him the best blow-job of his sweet, gay life, and then rubbing off desperately on Lovett's stomach.

They haven't really confronted the consequences, though. Lovett eats for Ronan, they have mind-blowing sex, and then the next day Lovett feels guilty and makes a lot of noises about going to Barry's Bootcamp. But his imminent fatness hasn't actually done anything to motivate him, and he can feel the new pounds settling around his belly and hips.

"Would that, um. Would that be so bad?" Ronan breathes.

"Hmmm." Lovett skates his hands down his belly, feeling the added softness there. He's always been a little padded, but he'd slimmed down in the past couple of years. Until Thanksgiving, at least. "You tell me."

"Lovett," Ronan murmurs. "Order your food."

Lovett bites his lip. "I'm gonna answer the door with a woodie and it's gonna be like the start of a bad porno, except it ends with me jerking off alone, looking like a beached whale."

"Fuck." Ronan's voice cracks.

"I'm gonna call down now, on the hotel phone," Lovett says. "You want me to call you back when the food gets here? Or do you want to listen to me order it?"

"I want to hear you," Ronan says.

 

Lovett hobbles over to the bedside table and dials. The whole time he's ordering he feels like someone is going to catch them, like the person taking his order is going to know why he's getting so much food and is going to laugh with all his hotel kitchen friends about the kinky freak in room 9014.

He shakes himself and hangs up, picks his phone back up. "So how was your day, honey?" he says, all innocence as he begins the treacherous walk back to the couch.

"Fuck you, Jon," Ronan say. He sounds out of breath. "You're a fucking monster, you know that?"

"You're the one who told me to order all that food," Lovett sighs, settling down again. "You're the monster, here, really. What would your readers say if they knew the New Yorker's golden boy and definitely not Frank Sinatra's son was getting off on his chubby gay Jewish lover getting even chubbier?"

"You're not chubby," Ronan says automatically. "Yet."

Lovett pushes his shirt up a little, recalling the feeling of Ronan's hands on his belly the last time they did this. It had been tacos that time, almost a dozen of them. "I'm gonna be out of commission for two weeks at least," he says thoughtfully. "No Barry's for me. I'm not even supposed to walk around much."

"Oh?"

Lovett snorts. "God, you're so fucking into this, you freak. I bet I gain ten pounds by the time my ankle's better, just from you being a freak."

Ronan’s breath catches. "Let's not pretend your eating habits are anything amazing when you're on your own," he says. "I've seen your Postmates account."

"You investigating me?" Lovett laughs. He puts on a dramatically serious voice. "'This is Ronan Farrow reporting for CNN. Why is podcast host and budding media mogul Jon Lovett looking so pudgy lately? And yet also somehow malnourished?'"

Ronan giggles. "You said it, not me."

Lovett looks at the time and winces. "Shit, I've gotta go turn the shower on so they think someone else is here." He struggles upright once again as Ronan cackles.

"You're so fucking paranoid."

Lovett hobbles to the shower, turns on the water and makes it back to the couch just as the room service arrives. "I'm too injured for all this walking,” he groans, and he hears Ronan snort.

"Food will make you feel better, baby. And meds."

Lovett tries not to blush as the porter wheels his food into the room. "Thanks, I know it's late," he says, slipping the guy a ten.

He turns off the shower and settles on the bed, knowing he won't want to move once he's eaten. "Ugh, if I have to sleep with crumbs in my bed, I'm blaming you."

Ronan hums noncommittally. "How's your food look?"

"Well," Lovett says as he takes the covers off of everything, "they, uh. They gave me two sets of silverware."

"Good thing you turned that shower on," Ronan says, dry.

"What should I start with?" Lovett asks, licking his lips. Now that the food is actually in front of him, he's starving.

"Hmmmm. The fries. Wouldn't want them to get cold."

Lovett pulls the plate with the burger and fries towards him, and the milkshake too. "Can I dip the fries in my milkshake?" he asks. He's kind of a bratty sub most of the time, but for some reason, with Ronan, with the food, he just wants to be good.

"Yeah, honey. Go to town." Ronan sounds breathless already.

Lovett dunks a couple fries in the milkshake and shoves them into his mouth. "Fuuuck."

"Normally I'd tell you not to speak with your mouth full but in this context it's actually pretty hot," Ronan says.

Lovett eats another few fries. "Can I have some of the burger?" he asks.

"Mhm." Lovett hears sheets rustling on Ronan's end. "Thank you for asking."

Lovett picks up the burger. As predicted, it's messy as hell. "Might have to cut this up," he murmurs.

"Just try with your hands to start," Ronan says, and Lovett grins. Ronan likes him a little messy.

Lovett takes a huge bite. Egg yolk goes everywhere. "You know," he says, muffled through his mouthful, "we could FaceTime. You could watch me."

"Mmm. But imagining it is so good," Ronan says. "You can send me pictures as we go, how about that?" They've done that too, when they've had weird phone-food-sex before. Ronan likes the abruptness of it, of seeing Lovett's belly suddenly stuffed and swollen.

Lovett takes another bite, grabs some more fries and dunks them in milkshake. "God, Ro, this is so much food."

"Stop talking for a while, honey," Ronan says. "Just eat."

Lovett eats. He turns back to the TV and takes another massive bite of burger, mushrooms falling back onto the plate in his lap, and can't help but make a disgusted noise at the sight of Betsy DeVos's face on the news. "Everything ok?" Ronan asks, and Lovett laughs, swallowing.

"Yeah, it was just the news. I'll try to keep my grunting only to the food."

"You're so good to me," Ronan coos. "You should eat some of your onion rings. They're no good when they're cold."

Lovett obliges. They crunch satisfyingly and he eats almost half the order without noticing. "Can I switch back to the fries?"

"Yeah, honey. Wouldn't want that milkshake to melt, either."

Lovett was starving, is the thing, and he finishes the burger and fries almost without realizing it, even as massive as the burger is. There's about two-thirds of the milkshake left, half the onion rings, and the very intimidating slice of cake, but by that point, his stomach is making itself known. "Ro, I'm getting full," he says, wiping his hands and face. "Fuck, that burger was fucking huge. I look kind of bloated already."

"Oh yeah?" Ronan asks. "Send me a picture."

Lovett pushes his shirt all the way up over his belly and takes a selfie that doesn't show his face, just the round swell of his gut, pale and a little hairy, and way bigger than Lovett is used to seeing it, tight pants cutting it in half. "God, I'm already so fat," he sighs. "Are you sure you want to see this?"

"Yeah, honey," Ronan breathes. "More than anything."

""Freak." Lovett eats another onion ring and sends the picture. He hears the ping on the other end as Ronan gets it.

"Fuck, baby, you're gorgeous," Ronan says. "Look at you."

"By the time I get all this in my gut I'm gonna be the size of a house," Lovett muses. "...can I get a beer from the minibar?"

"Yeah." 

Lovett eases himself to standing, leaning on the nightstand for support. "Fuck, I can really feel that burger," he groans, hand on the side of his tummy, shirt still rucked up around his chest. "Oof." He limps over to the minibar and pulls out a Bud Lite. "I'd better grab two, hm? I'm not gonna want to get up again."

"Are you drinking Bud Lite?" Ronan asks, voice suspicious. "God, why do I even like you?"

"Because I'm willing to stuff my face for you," Lovett says matter-of-factly. "That and my sense of humor."

"You only started stuffing your face for me recently," Ronan points out. "And we've been together seven years."

"Must be some sense of humor." Lovett lays down, opens his beer and pulls the bowl of onion rings onto his belly. "I wonder how Bud Lite would taste in a milkshake," he muses.

Ronan makes a gagging noise. "If you do that, I'm hanging up."

"Oh calm down, I was just wondering," Lovett laughs. He takes a big swallow of beer and eats an onion ring. "God, the carbonation is really not helping with the fullness." He lets out a tiny burp and pets his belly carefully. His pants are cutting into him something fierce, cheap denim straining around his full gut. He wiggles a little, trying to pull the waistband down below his belly.

"Gee, who would have thought?" Ronan teases. "Come on, finish your onion rings and milkshake. I want you to eat that cake."

 

Lovett slurps from the milkshake and shoves another onion ring into his mouth. "Ugh, my pants are killing me, Ro. Can I unbutton them?"

"Nope," Ronan says, popping the p. It's the first thing he's denied Lovett all night. "I want you to wear those as long as possible."

"Ugh, fine." Lovett tosses back the last couple of onion rings and washes them down with a big gulp of his beer. He massages his belly gently with his free hand, trying to work some of the air out and find some space. "God, I'm really getting full. Hoo boy."

"You can do it," Ronan coaxes. "Just a little more, baby."

"A beer and a half, the rest of this milkshake, and a giant slice of cake isn't 'just a little more,'" Lovett protests. "I already feel like I'm gonna pop."

Ronan is silent for a moment. "Press on your tummy for me," he says. Lovett complies, feeling the convex mound of his belly, the place where his pants are cutting painfully into the pudge of his lower belly and hips. "Is it solid? Or is it still soft-ish? Because if it's still soft, you've got room."

Lovett whines. "Still kinda soft."

"Then be a good boy and finish up," Ronan says.

"Fuck," Lovett whimpers. "Ok, I'm gonna finish the milkshake now, and this beer." Ronan hums in assent.

Lovett takes a long slurp of his milkshake, gasping a little at the end. "Oh, fuck, that's cold. Brainfreeze."

"Poor baby," Ronan coos. "Keep going."

Lovett takes one more big slurp and hits bottom with a rattling noise. "Good boy," Ronan says, and Lovett's dick jumps. He's been hard for so long it's almost an afterthought now, second to the sensation of his stretched, bloated belly.

"Just the cake and the beers now," he pants. He struggles upright, groaning as the movement jostles his belly. "Ro, my pants are killing me, can I unbutton them?"

Ronan pauses. "Send me a picture, first. Then you can unbutton."

Lovett snaps the picture in a hurry, and it's a little blurred, but he can't believe how massive he looks, pants squeezing him like a sausage casing. His belly is round and firm like a pregnant person's, and he can see a couple of angry red stretch marks coming in on his lower gut, the part that's too swollen for him to see on his own right now. "There," he pants, hitting "send". "Now can I unbutton them?"

"Yeah, baby," Ronan breathes. "God, you really do look huge. Like you swallowed a bowling ball."

"I feel like I swallowed a bowling ball," Lovett says, struggling to pop the button, as tight as his pants are. He finally gets it and falls back against the pillows with a sigh as his belly spreads into the new space, pushing the zipper down of its own accord. "Holy shit, that's better."

"More room for cake and beer, now, right?"

"You have a one track mind," Lovett pants, but he sits up again, with no small amount of effort, grabs the cake and a fork. He lays back down and rests the plate on the crest of his swollen belly. The cool porcelain feels good on his overtaxed skin.

He takes a long sip of beer his beer and drains it. "Done with that one," he burps, bracing a fist against his tummy. "God. Ok. Cake."

"You're doing such a good job, honey," Ronan murmurs, and Lovett takes his first forkful of cake.

 

It's delicious, even as full as he is, moist and not too sweet. It's _rich_. Lovett finds himself eating it quickly, chasing the taste.

"How is it?" Ronan asks.

Lovett tries to swallow. "S'good." He opens the other beer and takes a big gulp, trying to clear out some of the sticky icing. "I'm so fucking full, Ro." He palms the side of his belly, feeling how hot and stretched it is. It’s grumbing, like it’s angry at him for shoving all this food into it. Lovett doesn’t blame it.

"Yeah?" Ronan says. "How full?"

"Up to my eyeballs," Lovett pants. "Like, I can feel my stomach pressing on my lungs."

"You're gonna finish, though, right?" Ronan asks, voice breathy.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna quit on you yet." Lovett sips his beer and forks up another big bite of cake, chewing quickly.

“Good boy,” Ronan says. Lovett’s dick jumps, and he slides his hand down to squeeze it as if to say, almost your turn, just a little longer. He shoves another bite of cake into his mouth, messy, and washes it down with a gulp of beer.

“Holy shit,” he moans. His belly _aches_. 

He can hear Ronan breathing shakily. “Keep going. Talk to me.”

“I’m gonna explode, Ro.” Lovett eats another bite of cake, two-thirds of the slice gone now. “They’re gonna have to roll me onto the plane tomorrow. I’ll have to buy a second seat for my fucking gut.”

Ronan snorts. “You’re five foot seven, you’d have to be like three hundred pounds to need a second seat.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you kinky fuck,” Lovett grumbles. “I’d look hideous.”

Ronan is quiet for a moment, just the sound of his breathing. “You’d look beautiful. Just like you always do.”

Lovett scoots down against the pillows, trying to make more room for his lungs, sipping air slowly. He can feel how flushed his face is, from fullness and the beer. “I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“I know, honey,” Ronan murmurs. “Me too.”

“Wish you could rub my belly,” Lovett sighs. “I look six months pregnant right now.”

Ronan hums. “Finish your cake and send me a picture.” 

Lovett forces another bite of cake down, chewing tiredly. “So much food, Ronan. Probably three thousand calories.”

“Probably more,” Ronan says. “You’re doing such a good job, honey, getting so big for me.”

There’s only one bite left now, maybe two sips of beer, but Lovett is so, so full. “I don’t think I can do it. I can’t finish.”

 

“You can, Jon,” Ronan says. “You can do it, and when you finish, you can jerk off against that big tummy of yours, hmm?”

 

Lovett whines and arches his back. He’s too warm, cheeks flushed, belly stretched and hot. “Fuck. Ok.” He sits up a little and forks up the last bite. It’s such a small morsel compared to everything he’s packed into his gut, but it feels insurmountable. 

“Go ahead,” Ronan murmurs. 

Lovett swallows and shoves the last bite into his mouth, chewing and swallowing as fast as he can. He gulps down the last of the beer and falls back against the pillows with a gasp. “Holy fuck,” he pants, clutching his belly. “God, I’m gonna fucking burst. You’re a monster.”

“Send me a picture,” Ronan says. Lovett can hear how ragged his breathing has gotten.

He fumbles for his phone, scrolls to the camera app and takes a few selfies in quick succession, low-angle. “Fuck me, I really do look like a beached whale,” he says, sending them all to Ronan. His gut feels like an autonomous being, heavy and round, weighting him to the bed. “You’re not secretly fattening me up so you have an excuse to leave me, right?” Lovett says tiredly.

Ronan inhales sharply on the other end of the line. “Jon, _look_ at you,” he murmurs. “You’re so big, sweetheart, you look amazing. God, I wish I was there, I bet you need a tummy rub, hm?”

Lovett hums, sinking further into the pillows, reaching down to squeeze his dick again. “You haven’t answered my question.”

 

Ronan laughs softly. “Baby, I’ve been hard enough to pound rocks since the minute you called room service. The second I get my hand on my dick, it’s gonna be all over. And you know I’d never leave you. Especially not if you got fatter.” His voice is shaky, like he’s maybe nervous, too. This is all so new for both of them. 

“Ok,” Lovett whispers. He squirms a little, trying to get comfy. “Can I jerk off now?”

“Yeah, baby.” There’s a popping sound, and then a squirt. “I’m gonna do that too, if it’s alright with you.”

Lovett licks his hand and shoves it into his TommyJohns, too worked up for finesse. He pulls his dick right up against the bloated curve of his belly and works his hand quick and tight. 

“Good boy, Jon,” Ronan pants. “Come on, honey, come for me, come all over that big tummy.”

Lovett groans. “I’m so close, Ro, I’m so—” two more tight strokes and he comes on his stomach, so hard he whites out, body going boneless. He vaguely registers the sounds of Ronan’s climax, but he’s already floating off. 

“Lo,” Ronan’s voice says. “Lo, come on, I know you’re still in your clothes. At least wipe your belly off and get undressed.”

“Ugh.” Lovett tosses his head, but he struggles up onto his elbows. “Fine.” 

He manages to pull his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe off his tummy, moaning a little at the contact. It takes a little shimmying, which jostles his belly uncomfortably, but he gets out of his pants and socks, too, careful of his ankle. And then he’s blissfully naked except for his TommyJohns, sprawled on the comforter. “Can I go to sleep now?” he mumbles.

“Not yet,” Ronan says, like butter wouldn’t melt. “You still have to take your pain meds, honey.”

 

It takes a second to register what Ronan means, and then Lovett groans. “God, no, I really will explode.”

“It’s just one pill, Lo, and some water.” Ronan’s voice is sweet. He really is a monster. 

There’s water on the nightstand, next to the bottle of pills from the hospital. It’s just prescription-strength Motrin, and Lovett knows Ronan is right, knows from experience that if he doesn’t take it he’ll wake up in the middle of the night in pain. He sighs and heaves himself up to sitting, gasping at the pressure it puts on his belly. One pill. One gulp of water.

He tosses the pill back and follows it with water, almost gagging, but he keeps it all down. “God,” he pants. “Ronan, fuck.”

 

“Good job,” Ronan murmurs. “You did such a good job, honey, and next time I see you I’m going to show you _exactly_ how proud I am of you.”

Lovett settles back against the cushions and curls around his bloated tummy, pulls the covers half-assedly over his body. “Promise?” he mumbles, hands tucked into his boxers against the lower curve of his stomach. 

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> It came to my attention after I started writing this that Ronan may have actually been in Austin at the time, but frankly I was already in way too deep and also, I don't care. Facts are for other people! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this little bit of garbage, you can find me at wreckingmotorcars.tumblr.com. Come say hi!


End file.
